


chondritic (xxxiv)

by spookykingdomstarlight



Series: stereopsis [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Cuddling, Dark Luke, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, TIE Pilot Biggs, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9835358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “There’s another Death Star out there.” The words fell from his mouth as quickly as he could get them out. Purging them did nothing to still the disgust in his gut. “Near Endor. Being built. He wantstwoof them. Half of the time I’m not even sure what he thinks he can accomplish with one.”To Biggs’s credit, he didn’t react; there wasn’t even a ripple of surprise through the Force over the pronouncement. Luke had held it back so long, let it drive him forward, without ever saying anything to Biggs. But that wasn’t enough now. Just getting it out there in the open. That didn’t solve anything.Nothing he’d done was enough.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [holocron shards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8801530) by [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight). 



> For a prompt from [roane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/profile) asking for Luke and Biggs “com[ing] to terms with what Palpatine wants the Empire to be versus what Luke thinks it could be.”

**XXXIV**

Shiny hololabels hung, noose-tight, around the necks of four of the Emperor’s finest bottles of champagne. Where they’d come from was anyone’s guess; he’d come back to his quarters to find them stacked in a portable cooler, ice piled around them. Maybe it was Krennic trying to curry favor. Maybe it was the Emperor. Flicking at one of the labels before gripping it and holding it still, he peered down and read it.

All it told him was whomever had sent them intended him to be the recipient. And that they were as enthusiastic about Alderaan’s destruction as most people were.

_To one year, and many more_.

Nausea twisted in his gut and the acid bite of bile scratched and clawed its way up his throat. He would’ve tossed the gift if he didn’t need it to wash the taste of failure from his mouth.

It probably weren’t part of an assassination plot, but as he popped the cork on one of the bottles, the bubbles hissing and spitting at the mouth as he poured, he searched through the Force for signs of maliciousness, of ill-intent, of the chemical composition of death that might hide in the carbonation or the sour flavor of the fermented grapes. And when he came up with nothing, he grabbed his datapad and an analyzer and tested it.

No poison.

He swallowed the first glass so quickly it brought on a headache, the chill of the drink throbbing in his temples and behind his forehead. Holding the empty flute to his cheek, he drew in a deep, ragged breath.

He wished Biggs was here.

By the fifth, he didn’t even notice the bubbles. And he didn’t miss Biggs.

*

The bed shifted and Luke’s world tilted sideways as he rolled toward the source, a solid wall of warmth to press against. The Force alerted him that nothing was amiss and so he didn’t do more than groan and press his face into the sheets. Besides, even in his current state, he knew who his obstacle was. And he was nothing Luke needed to worry about.

“Well, I’m disappointed,” Biggs said, his hand curving around the back of Luke’s already overwarm neck. The touch felt like a brand, too hot and now too late to avoid being marked by it. Though Biggs spoke quietly, the words ran roughshod over Luke’s dim, unhappy awareness of them. “Everyone knows Force users have high alcohol tolerances.”

“That’s—” Luke groaned again.

“You only managed _two_ bottles.” Biggs tutted. “I could do nearly that much damage if I tried hard enough and had the whole night to do it in, too. You’re breaking all sorts of illusions for me here.”

“You’re talking too much.” Flopping over, hand covering his eyes, he frowned. His voice sounded odd even to his own ears. “Why?”

Biggs’s fingers tipped Luke’s jaw up and he felt a sharp poke against the muscles of his neck. Hissing, Luke jerked away, his body going cold like he’d been doused in ice water. And when the pressure in his head, in his stomach, became almost too much, it subsided. Warmth returned as a piece of plasteel clattered against the nightstand and he felt—

Fine.

Better anyway.

“Budge over,” Biggs said, bent forward as he pulled off his boots. Throwing his feet up onto the bed, he pushed Luke further over and fell backward, snaking his arm underneath Luke’s body to pull him snug against his side.

“What time is it?” Luke asked, more awake now, his cheek mashed against the uncomfortable bumps of Biggs’s uniform.

“Too early for this shit, that’s for sure,” Biggs answered, his tone kinder than his words actually suggested he should be. Concern ebbed and flowed in the Force, undercutting the good cheer Biggs was projecting.

“How’d you know to bring hangover meds?”

Biggs snorted, his chin nudging against the top of Luke’s head as he shook his own. “You weren’t at the party last night and I heard someone mention the Emperor had opened up his famed cellars. I can do a bit of simple arithmetic.”

So it had been the Emperor. The only thing that stopped his stomach from roiling again was the injection Biggs had given him.

“What good is an emperor,” Luke said, hushed, a secret just for the pair of them, “who would happily rule a galaxy composed of dust?”

Shifting slightly, Biggs pulled Luke closer, dragging him half on top of Biggs. He didn’t say anything, but he did grasp Luke’s hand and pull it up toward his chest, entwining their fingers. His lips brushed against the top of Luke’s head, barely there before they were gone again.

“Alderaan produced the finest champagnes in the entire Core. You’d think he’d keep it around out of greed or—”

“There’s no knowing the Emperor’s mind,” Biggs answered.

“He doesn’t _want_ anything. Nothing matters to him. How do you stop something like that?”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Biggs’s grip on him tightened, the fingers of his other hand digging hard into Luke’s bicep. “Everyone else might thing he’s more force of nature than man, but you know better.”

The problem was… he didn’t. Not really. This anniversary just proved that point for him.

“There’s another Death Star out there.” The words fell from his mouth as quickly as he could get them out. Purging them did nothing to still the disgust in his gut. “Near Endor. Being built. He wants _two_ of them. Half of the time I’m not even sure what he thinks he can accomplish with one.”

To Biggs’s credit, he didn’t react; there wasn’t even a ripple of surprise through the Force over the pronouncement. Luke had held it back so long, let it drive him forward, without ever saying anything to Biggs. But that wasn’t enough now. Just getting it out there in the open. That didn’t solve anything.

Nothing he’d done was enough.

The Emperor might just keep building Death Stars, so many that Luke would be unable to get rid of them all before they tore the galaxy apart.

“I don’t know what to do,” Luke admitted. He could only cover his trail so much, lead the Emperor on so many chases before it seemed pointless.

“So you bide your time,” Biggs said, anger finally threading its way through his voice, hot and sharp. It surprised Luke how much anger he sensed in Biggs, helpless anger, _hopeless_ anger. It made Luke want to fix this, do something right now, stop the Emperor however he could. “You stay off the board like you said you would. You work behind the scenes against him if that’s what you want. You take the time you need and you do what you have to do. But you— _you_ don’t give up. Ever.” He shook Luke by the shoulder. “You hear me?”

“Yeah,” Luke answered, heartened just that little bit by Biggs’s words. He didn’t have to be motivated only by himself, his own guilt and hatred. He could be motivated by Biggs, too. Maybe that helped. As he sucked in a deep, calming breath, he decided it had to be enough. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good,” Biggs said, mollified. The tempest inside of him subsided, leaving behind a blankness in the Force that Luke could almost class as soothing in comparison. “Besides, you’d make a damn sight better emperor than he would any day. At least you wouldn’t destroy the only champagne producer in the galaxy worth a damn.”

A surprised huff of laughter found its way out of Luke’s throat and a smile, reluctant, crossed his face. “That’s not funny.”

Biggs sighed and didn’t answer for a long moment though his hand chafed up and down Luke’s arm. “I know that,” he settled on finally. There were no words to describe what had happened to Alderaan and the three offered by Biggs did nothing to change that fact. They were too few, too resigned, too purposeless. “I know it, Luke.”

“You should get up,” Luke said rather than speak anymore about Alderaan. It seemed safer. “You’ll be late.” Late for what, Luke wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t have been in his uniform if he didn’t have somewhere to be. “And your uniform is going to wrinkle.”

“Then I’ll be late and it’ll be wrinkled,” Biggs answered, unconcerned. “They can give me a demerit if they really want to. I couldn’t care less right now unless it’s you who wants me to go and not your concern for my record.”

Luke bit his lip and thought very hard about saying just that, but in the end he couldn’t bring himself to do that. “No,” he said, “I’d like you to stay.”

“Then the demerit will be worth it, won’t it?”

Pushing himself up, Luke looked down at him, his bangs falling into his eyes. Biggs was smiling back at him, encouraging, inviting. And so Luke couldn’t help but brush his thumb over Biggs’s lips before replacing that touch with his mouth. “I’ll make sure of that much, at least,” he answered.

And though nothing was better, not yet anyway and maybe not ever, Luke chose to believe it would be.

“Biggs,” he said, brushing his hair out of his face. “Thank you.”

Biggs’s eyes lighting up with pleasure made at least that much effort worth it.


End file.
